Service Rifles

Military rifles have an appealing ruggedness and reliability. Their associations with history are fascinating. They even have an aesthetic attraction if you are firmly in the form-follows-function camp. And service rifle competition is a fun way to hone your shooting skills. These are my four favorites:

At the top is an Enfield Number 4 Mark 2. It's the last incarnation of a rifle used throughout the British Commonwealth for more campaigns than you can shake a stick at, from the fields of Flanders to the jungles of Burma. After reading George McDonald Fraser's "Quartered Safe Out Here", I couldn't live without one. Mine was made in the 1950's, just as England was adopting the FAL, and it was stored away without ever being issued. It was eventually sold as surplus back when that was legal, and came into my possession a half-century old yet essentially new. It was manufactured well after the wartime extingencies of WWII, and it shows in the quality of materials and workmanship. A brass buttplate sets off a blonde beech stock. It's extraordinarily rugged, simple to operate and clean, capable of good accuracy, and utterly reliable. A fully charged magazine plus one up the spout is eleven rounds, enough to get the average soldier through the average skirmish without reloading. Easy to understand why British troops were so fond of them.

Next down is an M1, America's famous infantry weapon from WWII through Korea and into Vietnam. I bought this from the CMP, or "Civilian Marksmanship Program". (Interesting historical aside: America produced wonderful soldiers up through WWI, mostly because our frontier heritage and unique constitutional freedom to bear arms meant that we were turning out tough hillbillies who grew up shooting and hunting. By WWII, however, our population was mostly urban, and our military leaders were shocked at how poorly new soldiers were performing. The CMP was formed to teach young men how to shoot and to provide them with weapons with which to practice. To this day, if you meet certain requirements, our government will ship a battle rifle and ammunition to your door. www.ODCMP.com) The M1 uses a bizarre but effective eight-round en bloc clip that is inserted into an internal magazine. (By the way, the people who will tell you that a partially-empty M1 can't be topped-off are full of shit. I wager them that I can do it in five seconds. So far no takers. The people who will tell you that the "ping" when the empty clip is ejected was a tactical disadvantage are even more full of shit. Even if there were no other rifles firing, no artillery, no other noises whatsoever, do you think an enemy soldier could hear a "ping" after eight muzzle blasts had just been loosed in his general direction? And even if he could hear it, do you think he could do anything about it before you could pop another clip in? If you do, I have an even more interesting wager for you.) Sorry, my intolerance for morons sends me off on tangents. Back on subject: I paid dearly to have some bedding and trigger work done, and this is a seriously accurate rifle. (All internet commandos claim that their beater surplus rifles are amazingly accurate. Most of them can't hit a barn from the inside. This one really will. Sorry, apparently I wandered off again.) Anyway, this was my favorite service rifle until the M14, below:

Third from the top is an M14. Well, a pseudo-M14 anyway. It's a long story of misguided bureaucratic thought, but "real" M14 receivers are illegal on the civilian market. So I bought a legal reproduction and had a gunsmith assemble one with the rest of the parts being "GI" (Government Issue). The M14 is an improved version of the M1, above. It replaces the M1's 8-round internal magazine with a detachable 20-round magazine. A shortened cartridge shaves a pound of weight and an inch of length from the receiver. A flash suppressor preserves the shooter's night vision. The M14 is the last of the steel-and-walnut battle rifles, the culmination of centuries of American rifle-toting tradition, from Daniel Boone to Alvin York. It's balance and handling qualities cannot be improved upon. Once again, I had some bedding and trigger work done, and am very pleased with how well this rifle shoots. It's one weakness is that optics are almost impossible to mount without detracting from those qualities. To compensate, it has perhaps the best iron sights ever made.

Last is an AR15, the civilian version of the "Plastic Fantastic" M16. While I just can't wax romantic about aluminum and plastic, it undeniably has some things going for it: The light weight of both it and it's ammunition, the ease with which optical sights may be mounted, magazines with capacities from 5 to 100, excellent ergonomics, and an adjustable stock to accommodate shooters of different sizes or bulky clothing. It's ammunition lacks the authority of the older rifles above, but a soldier can carry twice as much of it.

.303 British for the Enfield, .30-06 for the Garand, 7.62 x 51 NATO (.308 Winchester) for the M14, and 5.56 x 45 NATO (.223 Remington) for the AR15.

Fun with an M14

Summer neighbors from a state further south call police to report "someone shooting". An officer is dispatched, sees nothing wrong, lingers for a friendly chat. The neighbors come over to complain in person. They end up getting my 'short course', exploding a few old bricks as a finale. Now they're emailing me about what rifle they should buy. They're shocked to learn that both this type of rifle and informal plinking on their own land are illegal in their home state. I'll have them voting Libertarian before I'm done.

All guns are always loaded. Even if they are not, treat them as if they are.

Never let the muzzle cover anything you are not willing to destroy. (For those who insist that this particular gun is unloaded, see Rule 1.)

Keep your finger off the trigger till your sights are on the target. This is the Golden Rule. Its violation is directly responsible for most inadvertent discharges. Keep your booger-hook off the bang-button.

Identify your target, and what is behind it. A tiny lawyer is attached to every projectile that you launch.

Coconuts in Caracas

Since the facade of public safety prevents us from traveling with so much as a pocket knife, I am surrounded by one of my favorite foods with no way practical way to avail myself of them. They're on nice, low trees even. I bashed a couple open on rocks and salvaged what liquid I could, but it wasn't much. I would sell my grandmother into sexual bondage for a machete right now.

Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig

Fascinating biography: The British commander in WWI was a rigid thinker, without any trace of a sense of humor. He sincerely believed that he was chosen by God to defeat evil in the form of Germany. Anyone who opposed him was an instrument of the Devil. He had not an iota of self-doubt, and was apparently able to lose a million men without losing a moment of sleep. Sounds like a reincarnation of Oliver Cromwell. How do such pious killers rise to the top so often? Maybe it's precisely because zealots aren't hindered by the doubts of more rational people, and we find their supreme self-assurance alluring.

Ho Chi Minh tire sandals have come a long way.

These are a big improvement over open-toed sandals. No worries about peeling back a toenail, and little rocks don't get into them easily. Light, fast-drying, comfortable enough for long hikes, not TOO geeky-looking with socks. I found these for 70% off because it's the end of the season. (And I'll buy my next pair of winter boots in the spring.)

Hmm, what can I use a dead catfish for?

Found a big dead catfish along the shore of the lake. Popped it into a crawfish trap overnight and caught four large ones. Not exactly a hearty meal by themselves, but they'll sure add protein, flavor and interest to a cup of rice.

Crawfish live around rocks, and they feed at night. The ones you see near shore are usually too small to bother with. The big ones seem to like at least ten feet of water. The best bait is fresh fish.

Update: After several days, the selfless catfish is still producing. Surprising how much of it has been consumed by the trapped crawfish. They have remarkable appetites, but there's still a bit left. I've been moving the trap every day. On the worst days, I've caught nothing. This was my best day:

Adventures in Mexico

When in Cancun, I usually stroll down to my favorite Mexican restaurant to listen to my favorite mariachi:

This last time, I noticed a faint path following the shore of the lagoon going in my direction, so I figured I'd try it and get away from noise and exhaust fumes of the sidewalks. 

I bumbled into someone's camp, and took the pic below before backing out. He (I assume it was a "he") had been using it long enough for a remarkable amount and variety of trash to accumulate. He had made himself a raised sleeping platform with a sheet of plywood. There was a tiny boat tied to the brush a few feet away. The spot was well-hidden, shady, and dry. Aside from the aforementioned trash and his apparent habit of defecating wherever he happened to be when the urge hit him (I actually smelled the camp before I saw it), it was an idyllic place. 

When I got to the restaurant, I was the only customer. So six waiters hovered around amusing themselves by teaching me useful phrases like "tetas grande" ("big tits") and "tu nueva es tu mano" ("your girlfriend is your hand"). The table was on a deck overlooking the lagoon. There was a crocodile directly beneath until some local kids ran up and pelted it with rocks.